


This Game is Called Surviving--Remix (ft. Lil Nas X)

by 2kimi2furious



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Modern Westeros, the 80s au no one asked for
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-18
Updated: 2019-10-16
Packaged: 2020-10-21 10:00:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20691650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/2kimi2furious/pseuds/2kimi2furious
Summary: Arya and Gendry are street punks in 1980s era Kings Landing. Also Lil Nas X isn't in this. I'm just remixing my old fic. Like a chump.





	1. She is on the Run

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [This Game is Called Surviving](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8686759) by [2kimi2furious](https://archiveofourown.org/users/2kimi2furious/pseuds/2kimi2furious). 

The boy climbed in through the bathroom window around midnight, just as Gendry walked in to take a piss. 

“Seven hells,” he swore. He had told Hot Pie a thousand times to keep the damn window shut and latched for just this reason. This was hardly the first time some little neighbourhood junkie had crawled into their flat.

The boy tensed when he noticed Gendry and shot him a pleading look to keep quiet. And that’s when Gendry noticed the boy was not a boy at all, but a girl. A thin, ragged girl, but a girl all the same. He supposed all junkies tended to look the same after a while.

“Please,” she said. “Just until I lose them.”

He furrowed his brow and was just about to ask what the fuck she was on about when he heard a yell from outside.

“She’s gone! The little bitch is gone!”

Gendry took a step toward the window and the girl flinched. He shot her an annoyed look and gestured toward the window to let her know he was more interested than what was out there than her at the moment. Then he looked down into the alleyway below.

“People don’t just disappear!” the second voice called out. “She’s here somewhere. Maybe hiding in a rubbish bin.”

“Here girl!” the first voice called out again, trying and failing to sound innocent. “We won’t hurt you, come out!”

Gendry heard a scoff and shot his eyes toward the girl whom he caught mid-eye roll. 

“Maybe she went into one of the flats,” the second voice said. “Lots of windows in this alley. One’s bound to be open.”

The girl shot forward and grabbed Gendry’s arm in a vice-like grip. Her eyes were wide and fearful and she shook her head silently, begging him not to let them do that. As if he could do anything to stop them from checking all the windows.

Or maybe he could.

He shot a glance out the window again in order to get a good look at the two men in the alley. They didn’t look like police officers. They didn’t look like much of anything except for two idiot goons. Yes, perhaps he could do something after all.

“Oi!” he bellowed, sticking his head out of the window. He tried to sound as intimidating as he could. “The fuck are you yelling on about?”

The two men looked as if they had been caught doing something naughty. Clearly, this was supposed to be a covert mission.

“Nothing, mate!” the owner of the second voice (who seemed to be the one in charge) called back. 

“Skulking ‘round in alleyways looking through the rubbish is nothing?” Gendry asked. “Bullshit. You robbing us? I’ll call the police!”

“We’re not robbing you!” the man said. Gendry knew from listening to their earlier conversation that they were after the girl, not looking to rob them, but the man was horrible at feigning innocence.

“Piss off!” Gendry called out. “I’m ringing the police!”

The two men each hissed a swear each, but weren’t leaving fast enough for Gendry’s liking. He put his head back in the window and looked at the girl, motioning toward the bar of soap in the bath tub near her. With a confused look, she handed it to him and he promptly threw it out the window toward the two men. He hit the first one square in the chest.

“Get the fuck out!” Gendry yelled, holding his hand out and snapping for the girl to grab something else to give it to him. The shampoo bottle she handed him quickly went the way of the bar of soap.

“We’re bloody leaving, fuck!” the men cried, just as Gendry lobbed a can of shaving cream their way. He hoped to hit one of them in the face. However, they turned and fled before the can could make contact. Pity.

He watched them flee until he could see them no longer. By then, the neighbours had woken up and realized something was amiss. As the gripes and complaints started, Gendry pulled his head back into the bathroom and latched the window shut.

“Thank you,” the girl said, offering no other explanation.

“Are you gonna tell me what that was about?” he asked.

“No,” she answered.

“Fucking junkies,” he groaned.

The girl glared at him. Her eyes were clear and steely grey. Not the eyes of a junkie at all. It would have been so much easier if she had just been a junkie.

“So you’re not on drugs,” he said. “But men are chasing you. Robbery, then? Arson? Jaywalking?”

She didn’t answer. She was so _angry_, he could tell. But she was scared too. She looked like a cornered dog ready to bite.

“Listen, I’m taking things pretty well considering it’s midnight and you’ve just brought whatever trouble you’re tits deep in into my loo,” he continued. “Trouble that I just got you out of. The least you can do is answer my questions.”

“I didn’t do anything,” the girl finally replied. She lowered her eyes and chewed her lower lip. “That’s all I can tell you.”

Gendry groaned in frustration, but didn’t push her.

“They’re not going to come back are they?” he asked. “Those men?”

“I don’t know,” she answered. “Maybe. Maybe not. Hopefully not.”

“Lovely,” Gendry answered. 

The girl was lying about something. He didn’t know what, but he’d seen that cagey look from dozens of people. But maybe she was telling the truth, if only partly. And maybe he was being an idiot, willing to give her the benefit of the doubt.

“It’s late,” he said. “I won’t send you back out there now. It’s not very comfortable, but you can stay on our sofa until morning if you’d like. This isn’t a nice neighbourhood. If you _really_ didn’t do anything, you shouldn’t be out there.”

“I can take care of myself,” she spat out. But then immediately had the decency to look chastened without him having to glare at her. He had just saved her, after all. “Thank you, though. I think… I think I’ll stay. Just until morning.”

“That’s fine with me,” he replied. “I’m Gendry, by the way. Gendry Waters.”

“Arry,” she replied. “Just Arry.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from the song "She" by Misfits.


	2. Take no Pity from your Friends

“Just Arry” didn’t just stay for one night, although it was no fault of her own. She had tried to leave multiple times, but when Gendry and Hot Pie (who was actually more upset about his shampoo tossed into the alley rather than a strange girl climbing into his flat at midnight) found out she had nowhere else to go, they wouldn’t let her leave. It was dangerous in this neighbourhood, even when you didn’t have people chasing after you.

Arry had complained and argued, calling them misogynists—they had to look that word up—and bastards and idiots, but she stayed. As she said, she had nowhere else to go.

Gendry and Hot Pie found an old mattress at a rummage sale that was in mostly good condition. It was slightly more comfortable than their sofa and a lot less stained. They set it up in a corner in the area of the flat that passed for a sitting room and cordoned it off with twine and old bedsheets to give Arry privacy.

Gendry thought she might complain about it (he was finding she complained about a lot of things), but she didn’t. Arry entered the flat just they finished hanging the last sheet and looked at the set up silently. Then she hopped onto to the mattress, closed her curtains and offered a muffled “Thank you”. She didn’t come out for the rest of the night.

When Gendry woke the next morning to ready for his shift at Mott’s Garage, Arry was awake and sitting on the floor near his door. Gendry nearly toppled over her on his way to the toilet.

“Seven Hells!” Gendry swore. “Can’t you go anywhere like a normal person?”

Arry glared at him, but bit back the words she wanted to say. What she said instead was “How much was it?”

“It’s too early for whatever it is you’re doing,” he sighed, rubbing his hands across his face.

“The mattress,” she said. “How much?”

“Oh, that,” he said. “Couple of stags. Don’t worry about it.”

Arry briefly glanced around the tiny flat and gave him a skeptical look.

“Don’t worry about it,” Gendry repeated.

“I don’t need charity,” Arry said. “And to be honest, I don’t think you can afford it.”

Gendry felt his gut start to boil. He grew up in this city and he’d never had much. Then when his mother died, he’d had less. Although the flat was small and shabby, it was the nicest thing he’d ever had. It was true, he _couldn’t_ afford any charity, but she didn’t have to go and say it outright. Especially since he’d been so nice to her.

Arry must have seen the angry set of his jaw, because she quickly backtracked.

“I just mean that I’m not entirely helpless, you know,” she said. “If you and Hot Pie insist I stay, the least I can do is pay my own way.”

Gendry still felt the fire in his gut, but he shoved it back down. He would allow himself to be placated, though he still wasn’t happy.

“We can talk later,” he said a little curtly. “When Hot Pie’s here. When I don’t have somewhere to be.”

Arry bit at her bottom lip, properly ashamed. Gendry’s anger dissipated entirely then.

“Don’t worry about the mattress,” he repeated, more gently than he’s spoken before. “A few stags won’t cripple me. Just don’t make a habit of it.”

“Well you’ve only got the one bathroom window I can crawl in through,” she said. “And I just need the one bed to sleep on. I don’t think I _can_ make a habit of it.”

A joke. And a bad one at that. It was _entirely_ too early for this.

Arry was back in her “room” by the time Gendry shaved and showered. He passed through the kitchen and grabbed a bag of crisps from the pantry which would serve as his breakfast. He went to grab for his keys and noticed a small folded up slip of paper that read “I hope this is enough.”

Fifty crisp stag notes sat fanned out under the slip of paper, far more than the mattress was worth. Gendry shot a look toward Arry’s mattress, brow furrowed in confusion. Where had she gotten this money?

“You’re going to be late for work,” Arry’s voice came floating out from behind the bedsheets. And shit, she was right. He didn’t have time for this right now.

He pocketed the money, knowing full well that Hot Pie would take if he didn’t. Gendry did not intend to keep this money. At least, not all of it.

“We’re talking _tonight_,” he warned. “So don’t fuck off while I’m at work.”

“I won’t,” Arry promised.

And she didn’t.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from the song “Disorder” by Joy Division.
> 
> Wasn’t happy with chapters 2 and 3 of the original fic. Hope you like these new ones instead


	3. The Crisis You Can't See

It didn’t take long for the landlord to figure out that there was someone else living in the flat with Hot Pie and Gendry. 

“This is the first time you’ve paid rent on time in half a year,” Lem said. “I’m not an idiot. Now which one of you is she shagging?”

He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively at Gendry who rolled his eyes.

“Why do you assume it’s him and not me?” Hot Pie demanded.

“I’m not shagging _anyone!_” Arry huffed. “And don’t talk about me like I’m not here!”

“I’ll talk about you however I like, love,” Lem said, turning his attention to her. “You _are_ illegally subletting, you know. You can get a lot of trouble for that.”

“And I already apologized,” Gendry interrupted before Arry could offer a rebuttal. “You’ve got your money, just leave it be.”

“I’m doing _you_ a favor by letting you stay here,” Lem said pointing to him. “I don’t know anything about _her_. Is she on the level?”

“Nobody says ‘on the level’ anymore,” Arry muttered before Gendry could stop her. 

Lem was fine--when he was in a good mood. Unfortunately,there was no way of knowing what mood he would be in from moment to moment. Gendry braced himself for Lem to go off on Arry and was pleasantly surprised when he laughed instead.

“An old fuck like me can’t keep up with the youths anymore,” he chuckled. “But it isn’t for lack of trying.”

Good mood, then. Gendry could work with this. As long as Arry kept herself in check. He shot her a warning look which she seemed to purposefully ignore.

“Listen, it’s only a temporary thing,” Gendry interrupted. He actually didn’t know how long Arry was planning on staying, but he didn’t think she would want to stay on a shabby mattress in their shabby flat for very much longer. “Just ‘til she gets on her feet. No need to get up in arms about it.”

“So it’s you’s fucking her, then” Lem said, as if that were the only explanation as to why Gendry would be vouching for her.

“No one is fucking me!” Arry all but snarled.

“We’ve all been stupid over women before,” Lem said, shrugging his shoulders. Then he turned back to Gendry. “I get the rent on time every month, I’ll drop it. But, mate, you should fuck her at least once if you’re going to risk your hide having a stranger here.”

Gendry groaned inwardly. And outwardly too. Fucking Lem.

“I’m not sleeping with _him_,” Arry said, pointing angrily at Gendry. And then she pointed at Hot Pie. “And I’m not sleeping with _him_ either.”

“Alright, calm down now,” Lem said, no longer amused by her anger. “I don’t give a fuck what you do, s’long as the rent comes in on time.”

He shot a reproachful look in Gendry’s direction, before turning to leave.

“Since I am being so magnanimous about this very illegal situation, there is something you can do for me, Waters,” he said, innocently. And fuck, Gendry knew what was coming. “Tom O’Sevenstreams’s been calling me up saying you’ve been ignoring his calls. The two of you.”

He gestured toward Hot Pie as well. He and Gendry groaned in unison.

“You’ll ring him up if you want me to keep being magnanimous,” Lem continued.

“Mother_fucker_,” Gendry said simply.

Lem smiled, showing off his stained, crooked teeth then waved petulantly toward Arry before leaving the flat.

“The fuck was that about?” Arry demanded. 

“Why don’t we move?” Hot Pie asked Gendry, ignoring Arry’s question. “We could just move.”

“We can’t,” Gendry answered. “You know we can’t.”

“This is entirely your fault,” Hot Pie said. “And I want you to know that I hate you for it.”

“Don’t ignore me!” Arry demanded. 

Gedry shot her a glare, which she defiantly returned. She was being such a little _shit_, although, Gendry reminded himself, Lem did tend to bring out the worst in people.

“You might as well just tell her,” Hot Pie said suddenly. “She’ll find out eventually.”

“Tell me what?” Arry asked. He could see panic beginning to rise in her eyes. And fuck, he _really_ wasn’t expecting to have this conversation today. He sighed.

“Lem is letting me live here as a favor,” Gendry explained. “Because of my father.”

“Alright?” Arry asked. “So?” 

She wasn’t getting it. It didn’t take most people long to figure it out when he brought up his father.

“Look at me,” he said, slowly. “Who else do you know of that looks like me?”

Arry screwed her face up, clearly not following his line of thought.

“Add a few pounds,” Hot Pie quipped.

Gendry could see the moment exact moment hte recognition flashed through her eyes.

“Bull_shit_.” she said. 

That was the reaction nearly everyone had when they realized Gendry was the illegitimate son of the Prime Minister, Robert Baratheon. _Late_ Prime Minister.

“And what are you?” she asked, whipping her attention over to Hot Pie. “A secret fucking Targaryen?”

Hot Pie let out a booming laugh, and Gendry relaxed a little. Revealing his secret hadn’t always been… well received.

“The fuck are you doing in this neighbourhood, then?” Arry asked, turning back to him. “Wasn’t your mum being bribed or something?”

It was a well-known secret that the late Prime Minister hadn’t exactly been faithful to his wife throughout their long marriage. There were few who speculated he’d never been faithful at all. Once he’d died, a bunch of women sporting nearly identical black-haired, blue-eyed children came out of the woodwork, telling stories of bribes and secrecy. They’d all been using the hush money to live in posh apartment and get their children into fancy schools. Gendry’s mother would probably have been one of those women had she not had the accident when he was ten.

“Hard to take bribes when you’re dead,” Gendry answered somberly. 

“Oh,” Arry said, her face falling. “I didn’t know.”

“Of course you didn’t,” Gendry said. He didn’t like talking about his mother or the years following her death. It was best to move past this and move quickly. “Anyway, Lem knew my father. Or he said he did. Found me five years ago and told me I could stay here.”

“Wait, he’s letting you stay here as a favor, but he’s charging you rent?” Arry asked skeptically. 

“I guess you can be loyal and greedy at the same time,” he answered.

Arry chewed her lip, eyes unfocused as she retreated into her own thoughts for a time. 

“Cersei must hate you then?” she finally said.

Gendry let out a harsh “ha!” Robert Baratheon’s widow hated _everyone_.

“I don’t think she knows about me,” he said. “She didn’t know about the others until after Robert died and they came out in droves.”

Arry rolled her eyes and muttered something under her breath. Then she straightened up decisively.

“I _will_ stay here, then,” she said, almost more to herself than Gendry and Hot Pie.

“I’m just asking on principle,” Gendry said. “Because I’m pretty sure you won’t, but you’re not just saying that to just so you can leak my story to the tabloids?” 

Arry gave him a smirk and dove behind the curtains of her “room”. She rummaged around for a moment before re-emerging holding up a scrap of newspaper.

“I won’t sell your story to the tabloids as long as you don’t sell mine,” she said. And then she held the paper out.

_Deputy Prime Minister Stark in Dies in Tragic Car Accident_, the headlines read. 

Gendry furrowed his brow and scanned the article, confused as to why she was showing him this. And then he saw it. A picture Deputy Prime Minister’s three youngest children who had died with him in the car crash. One of whom was standing in his flat, holding the paper out to him. Arya fucking Stark.

“Well,” he said. “Shit.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from the song “Identity” by X-Ray Spex.
> 
> Reworked because I realized I just left that whole “The Lannisters are looking for Gendry too” plot just sort of hanging in the original fic. LOL WHOOPS.
> 
> It is literally a wonder any of you stuck around for the end.


	4. Dreams, Mysteries, and Crazy Schemes

Gendry damn near had a panic attack once he realized how close had been to the Lannister men the night Arry crawled into his bathroom.

“I chose the first open window,” she said, shrugging nonchalantly. “If you didn’t want to risk them finding you, you should have kept it locked.”

“Yeah,” Gendry said, shooting a glare at Hot Pie (as it had been he who had left the offending window unlatched). “We should have.”

“Lannisters shouldn’t be climbing into people’s WCs at all,” Hot Pie said, trying to remain dignified under Gendry’s glare. “Plus, it worked out in the end, so what’s it matter? Anyhow, let’s get back to the real issue at hand: why are you even here if you’re dead?”

Arry rolled her eyes and explained for the fifth time that the Lannisters were only trying to make everyone _think_ she was dead. Some kind of secret plot to grasp power or something. Gendry was fuzzy on the whole thing because, frankly, he didn’t care about the squabbles in Parliament. The Stag party, the Lion party, hell even the fucking _Dragons_ could fight all day long and it woud have no affect on his daily life.

What he _did_ care about, however, was that his late father’s wife thought it was perfectly acceptable to _murder_ people. And the fact that she could get away with making it look like an accident was even worse. He didn’t know much about Arry’s father, Lord Stark, but he seemed a decent bloke, and Gendry had no clue why Cersei Lannister would want to kill him, much less why she would want his three youngest children dead alongside him.

And then he started thinking about what she would do to him if she found out about him. Or what she would do to all of his half-siblings that she knew about. If the Deputy Prime Minister and his family weren’t safe from her, were they? Was he? And there was the rising panic again.

“Hey,” Arry said, interrupting his thoughts just as he was about to work up a really good bout of anxiety. “Whatever you’re thinking, stop. The Lannisters probably think I’m dead by now, and they don’t even know _you_ exist, if what your friend Lem says is true.”

“Not my friend,” Gendry muttered. “My landlord.”

“You’re missing the point,” Arry said, impatiently. “You’re _safe_ and so you shouldn’t worry about it.”

“For now,” he answered. “I am. You’re not. You won’t be able to stay dead forever.”

“I can if I need to,” Arry replied, a little too confidently. Gendry shot her a skeptical look that she promptly ignored.

“Anyway, worrying about it now won’t help,” Arry continued. “As long as we don’t do anything _stupid_-” here she shot a look toward Hot Pie, “-- we should be fine for a while.”

“You are both laying it on a little thick with this unlatched window thing,” Hot Pie said.

“To be fair,” Arry answered. “It was a really stupid thing to do.”

Hot Pie huffed and started a long, drawn out argument about how “It wasn’t even a big deal” and “Everything’s fine now” and “Gendry, I thought we were friends, why are you siding with the dead girl?”, etc. etc. etc. It lasted well into the night and Gendry was only able to extract himself from the situation by feigning a headache.

...………………………..

To his credit, Gendry only slightly jumped when he saw Arry sitting on the floor by his door the next morning. He didn’t shout in surprise either. This was growth.

“Is this your thing?” he asked, yawning. “Creeping about like a little hallway gargoyle?”

“Please, this is hardly a hallway,” Arry answered.

“No matter,” he said. “It’s weird.”

“I was awake and I didn’t know what time you would be up,” she replied. “So I waited.”

As if that made _any_ sense at all.

“Okay?”

“We kind of got side tracked with the whole bathroom window thing,” Arry said, standing up. She sighed, chewing on her bottom lip a bit before continuing. “I know you’re worried about the Lannisters. But, seriously, don’t be.”

“I’m not,” he said, trying to play it cool.

“Liar.”

Gendry couldn’t argue.

“I won’t tell anyone about you,” Arry said. “As long as you don’t tell anyone about me.”

“I won’t,” he said. “I mean, our dads were mates, right? Would kind of be a dick move.”

“Would be a dick move even if they weren’t mates,” Arry replied flatly.

“True.”

“Anyway, as far as I see it, we’re in the same boat,” she continued. “I won’t let Cersei’s men get anywhere near here. Not again, anyway.”

“I’d appreciate that,” Gendry answered. 

“And if they do, well…” she trailed off, chewing at her lip again. “I can handle them.”

Gendry snorted before he could stop himself. She was small. Like, _really_ small.

Arry didn’t appreciate that at all. She screwed up her face and punched him in the arm. Hard.

“Ow, _fuck!_” he swore, rubbing at the sore spot. Maybe she _could_ handle the Lannister men. To a certain extent.

“I just wanted to let you know,” Arry continued awkwardly. “Just. Yeah.”

“Er,” Gendry replied. “Thanks.”

They stood facing each other wordlessly for a moment, suddenly both very aware of how uncomfortable the situation had become.

“Right then,” Arry said. “Now you know.”

Then quick as a cat, she scampered off behind her curtained partition, leaving Gendry to go about his morning business.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Title is from the song “Secrets” byThe Runaways.


	5. Put the Blame on VCR

Gendry was in a foul mood when Arry walked into the flat that evening. He’d just gotten off the telephone with Tom o’Sevensteams the conversation went exactly where he knew it would go. He wasn’t happy about it.

“Who spit in your oatmeal?” she asked, walking past him to root around in the kitchen for a beer.

“Tom o’Sevenstreams,” Hot Pie grumbled from the kitchen where he was angrily stirring a gravy.

“Who?” Arry asked, cracking her beer open and taking a sip.

“The bane of my existence,” Hot Pie said darkly.

“Quit being dramatic,” Gendry answered, joining the two of them in the kitchen. Although honestly, he wasn’t very happy about the situation himself.

“When we were young and foolish,” Hot Pie continued, not dialing back the dramatism one bit. “Gendry and I decided we were going to be in a band.”

Arry snorted into her beer.

“It was a shit band,” Gendry said. “Absolutely terrible.”

“The worst,” Hot Pie agreed. “We posted flyers around Flea Bottom and everything. It was very embarrassing.”

“Lem’s friend--you remember Lem?-- His friend Tom called about one of the flyers,” Gendry said, rummaging around for a beer of his own. “And he was good. Very good. Even by normal standards.”

“But he was a huge _dick_,” Hot Pie interrupted. “Just like Lem.”

“Just like Lem,” Gendry echoed. “Band didn’t last very long. ‘Creative differences’ and all that.”

Arry’s eyes glinted mischievously as she listened and sipped at her beer.

“Anyway,” Gendry continued. “Haven’t spoken to the fucker in _five years_ and Lem tells us to call Tom out of the blue. I knew what he was going to ask and I called him anyway.”

“You stupid bastard,” Hot Pie said. Gendry couldn’t even argue with them.

“What, he wants to get the band back together or something?” Arry asked. And when neither Hot Pie nor Gendry answered, she practically squealed with glee. “He _does_. Oh, this is terrible. You should do it.”

“No!” the two men said in unison, but Arry wouldn’t have it. They were both extremely annoyed by how amused she was by this 

“Let me guess,” she said, pointing to Gendry. “You were the drummer.”

“Wrong,” he said. “That was Hot Pie. I played bass.”

“Of course you did,” she said.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nobody likes the bassist,” Arry explained. “And you always look like you’re mad about something. It fits.”

“People like the bassist,” Gendry said. He looked to Hot Pie for support, but Hot Pie only shook his head. The traitor.

“What was your band’s name?” Arry asked. 

“Ugh,” Gendry groaned, while Hot Pie answered: “The Brotherhood.”

“What does that even _mean_?”

“Tom came up with it,” Gendry said weakly. Arry cackled again, and Gendry decided that he had had enough of the conversation.

He abruptly turned and headed to his room without further ado.

Whereas he was only mildly annoyed before, he found that he was suddenly quite angry. Was his whole venture with The Brotherhood the most embarrassing thing he’d ever done in all of his 23 years? Yes, it was. Was the band shit? Yes, it was. Was he angry that Tom had called him up out of the blue to ask him to restart the band? Absolutely. But was he considering doing it anyway? Oddly enough, he had been.

Gendry knew he wasn’t good. He could play passably well, but not well enough to be anything more than a hobby. He knew that being in a band was a pipe dream, but a part of him had actually enjoyed playing on the stage in front of people. For those fleeting moments, he felt important. Gendry rarely felt important.

And so he was in his room, sulking like a teenager because Arry had laughed at him. A part of him knew he was being irrational, but he didn’t care. He would nurse his wounded pride for an hour or two and then get over it. Just like he normally did.

Except he didn’t get the chance to sulk very long.

“Open up,” Arry said, rapping at his door impatiently.

“Go away,” he grumbled. 

“I’m sorry I laughed at you, she said,” although she didn’t it. “But it _was_ a little funny. You have to admit.”

Gendry didn’t _have_to admit anything. And he didn’t. He crouched down to where he kept his record collection, searching for something very loud to put on and drown her out. Arry knocked on his door again.

“Seriously,” she said. “I _am_ sorry. Don’t be mad. Hot Pie made gravy. Come out and have some.”

His stomach picked that particular moment to churn loudly. He sighed, frustrated and left his record collection alone. He walked over to the door and opened it so suddenly, it caught Arry by surprise.

“I’m coming out for the gravy, and only the gravy,” he said. “Not because you asked me to.”

Arry rolled her eyes and Gendry headed toward the kitchen without her.

...………………………..

He was in a better mood after he’d eaten. Hot Pie’s meals tended to lift his spirits a bit. It was one of the many perks of living with an aspiring chef. There was no talk of The Brotherhood or Tom o’Sevenstrings either and that helped quite a bit as well. Gendry was almost ready to forgive Arry for laughing at him. Almost.

When the washing up was done, Gendry headed back to his room while Arry and Hot Pie stayed behind to watch a bit of telly. He rooted around his bedroom, moving aside piles of wrinkled clothes and old junk until he found what he was looking for hidden in a corner of his closet.

The bass was dusty and out of tune, but it still worked and that was all that mattered. Gendry sat on the floor, tweaking the pegs on the headstock until things sounded right again. He plucked at a few strings, fingers aching a tiny bit as he did so. His fingers were calloused, but not calloused enough. If he was even going to entertain the idea of taking Tom up on his offer, he’d have to fix that.

He experimentally tried a few riffs of “The Bear and the Maiden Fair.” He was rusty, but he remembered more than he didn’t which was a good sign. He was a few bars into “Rat Cook” when he heard another knock on his door. He groaned and decided to ignore it, when he heard his door squeak open.

“Your door wasn’t closed all the way,” Arry said, somewhat sheepishly as she poked her head in through the crack. Gendry felt the tips of his ears go pink.

“Well shut it then,” he said, turning his head away from the door and back to his instrument. 

“My brother was in a band,” she said, ignoring him. “An even shittier one than yours, probably.”

Gendry plucked at a string or two, trying his best to tune her out.

“Their name was _terrible_,” she continued. “‘The Black Brothers.’ It was supposed to be some sort of metal thing. They just played noise.”

“What’s your point?” Gendry asked impatiently.

“I guess I don’t have one,” Arry said. 

She stood there awkwardly before Gendry finally sighed and turned to her.

“I shouldn’t have laughed,” she said. “It just reminded me of my brother, that’s all.”

She looked properly ashamed of herself and a little sad. Gendry’s anger deflated.

“We were ridiculous,” he admitted.

A corner of Arry’s mouth started to tug up into a smirk.

“Don’t say _anything_,” Gendry warned, pointing at her.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Arry answered before turning on her heel and leaving him alone in his room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from the song “Video Killed the Radio Star” by The Buggles. That song is a bop, don’t @ me.


End file.
